


basement mishaps

by mageofmind (renegadeartist), timeisweird



Series: so you aren't as human as you thought you were [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Chameleon Arch, Gen, Tups AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 15:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renegadeartist/pseuds/mageofmind, https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeisweird/pseuds/timeisweird
Summary: John is an idiot, Donna worries, and no one notices the weird blue box in a basement storage locker.(please readso you aren't as human as you thought you wereby timeisweird before reading this, or else this won't makeanysense. this takes place after chapter two, and before chapter three.)





	1. Side A

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: discussions of injuries.

“No, Donna, I promise, it’s nothing bad,” he reassures her.  
  
Her voice comes through the speaker shrill, annoyed, and worried. _“Bloody idiot! Not that bad. Slicing your hand open is pretty bad, John!”_  
  
He cradles his injured hand to his chest and holds his phone to his ear with the other. “No, no, no it’s fine I promise. I patched it up and everything.”  
  
_You washed it, right?”_ Donna asks, and he can hear movement in the background. She’s shuffling around her apartment, he assumes, looking for something.  
  
He stands up and starts pacing around his lab. “Yes of course. I have a first aid kit and everything. You know. Just in case.”  
  
He hears her keys jingling. _“Yeah? And you used disinfectant?”_  
  
“Er...” he mumbles. There’s the sound of her front door closing, and he quickens his pace, wandering around the basement. “You – you don’t have to come over, I’m fine, I promise. Just – like, tell me through the phone. What I need to do.”  
  
_“John,”_ she says evenly. _“I have no confidence in you whatsoever.”_  
  
He deflates against a wall, resisting the urge to slide to the floor. “That’s fair.”  
  
_“I’ll see you in a few minutes. Don’t go giving yourself anymore injuries, yeah? And keep away from your lab.”_  
  
“Yeah, don’t worry. Won’t even move,” he says, resolutely digging his heels into the floor.  
  
_“Good. See you in a few.”_  
  
“Thanks, Donna.” She grunts, and the line goes dead. He snaps his mobile shut and slips it back into his pocket.  
  
He shifts against the wall, trying to get a comfortable position, except... there’s something weird about it. It’s sort of... vibrating, under him. He shifts back and squints at it, but it just gives him a headache, trying to discern any details. He puts a hand against it and–  
  
– –  
  
–Donna shakes him. “John? Hey, idiot.”  
  
He blinks, shakes his head, and forgets all about the blue box in the corner of the basement. “Oh. Hi, Donna. When did you get in?”  
  
She rolls her eyes. “Just now. Give me your hand, let’s see how bad you’ve hurt yourself.” He obeys, and she makes a disapproving noise in the back of her throat. “You need to be more careful, John. You’re not invincible, you’re a – a fragile human. Not invincible.” She gives him a serious look. “And I worry about you a lot, you know.”  
  
His eyes find the floor. “Sorry,” he mumbles.  
  
“It’s fine. Come on, let’s fix this.”


	2. Side B

Her not-pilot is talking to his friend with one of those primitive communication devices. He’s injured himself, and it’s easy to hear how distraught this friend is on the matter. The TARDIS doesn’t find herself caring all that much. She stands in the corner of the basement, and watches as the so-nearly-human-the-distinction-hardly-matters one paces through the basement. He's nervous, her data banks supply.  
  
At one point, he stops and stands in front of her. He doesn’t see her, of course. The other human says something suddenly, bluntly, and the mostly-human one sags, shoulders falling. He gives an acknowledgement, and leans back against her outer shell. A few more words are exchanged, and he turns off the communication device and slips it into his pocket.  
  
He shifts against her shell, like he finds it uncomfortable. She makes the point to project this feeling back at him, tell him how uncomfortable _she_ feels as well, but she doesn’t know if he understands it at all, or maybe he does.   
  
He’s an odd one, and the lines are blurred, barriers malleable. And she knows his minuscule past and the present and the future that spans ages and no time at all, the what, the where, the why and how, all that is, was, could be, should be. She knows what he’s like, what he's done, and what he will do.  
  
None of that means she has to like him.   
  
He frowns, looks back at her and squints. He still can’t properly see her, the perception filter makes sure of that, but he manages to press a hand against her outer shell. He’s searching, wondering, curiosity nudging him towards the something in his basement that he’s barely aware of, and through the contact, she takes a knife and cuts that thought short.  
  
He stills. Mind and eyes blank.  
  
Their bond is dormant, a sleeping giant smothered by cotton and static and an incompatibility brought on by a Time Lord consciousness chopped up and sliced and dumbed down enough to fit in a human brain. She can still sense the silence in his head; nothing filters across the bond, and for now, that’s how she wants it.  
  
She wants nothing to do with this person who is almost her pilot right now, as much as now matters, because she exists in and perceives every point in her timeline, wants nothing to do with him now, never will, always will, will someday, but in this particular slice of time, she wants him to go on with his human life being stubborn and insolent and insignificant just how her pilot wanted.  
  
She’s not sulking. She’s not. Timeships don’t _sulk._  
  
It’s only when the other human makes a physical appearance, walking into the basement, does she let her not-pilot go because the other human is putting a hand on his shoulder (she can’t see her either, but she thinks, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if this one did) and shaking him.  
  
He blinks, shakes his head, and looks to her with a smile on his face. Life goes on, and the TARDIS sits and waits for something to change. 

 


End file.
